


Puzzle Pieces

by sara_holmes



Series: Puzzle Pieces [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A+ Parenting, Arto, Arto feels, Cereal, Chapter titles are ages, Child with behavioural Issues, Counterpart Verse, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Angst, Parent-Child Relationship, Relationship(s), Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arto is a baby-Rogers super soldier. His Dads are Captain America and Iron Man, his big brother is Hawkeye, his brother-or-uncle-depends-which-way-around-his-family-tree-he-goes is the Winter Soldier. Not to mention the rest of the Avengers that he lives with.  Yeah, his life is probably certifiably insane, even when they're trying to be normal.</p><p>He doesn't mind so much. </p><p>[Prompts and snippets from the Counterpart/Puzzle pieces universe. Not in any kind of chronological order, my bad.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from user Pariahsdream - "I did a pregnancy test."/Winterhawk (bonus pts if in Arto verse). ;)
> 
> Note - this features Clint being physically altered by way of magic. In this chapter it's referred to as Clint being turned from a boy to a girl. Some people explained to me that this was erring on the side of problematic, and the language wasn't fully inclusive or understanding of transgender people. So the help of some gorgeous people and feedback, the next chapter goes onto explore and challenge the perceptions and terminology used. So bear with me - the characters learn as I did! Thank you.

When the door to his bedroom crashes open, Steve simply does what he normally does and rolls over, shoving his head under the pillow and hoping that Arto makes a beeline for Tony instead of him. He waits and sure enough, he hears footsteps stamping demandingly towards them, and then waits for the usual shout of ‘there are no more Lucky Charms,’ or ‘Bucky is being an asshole,’ or ‘can Omari come and play-?”

“Clint’s turned into a girl.”

Wait, what?

He and Tony both get up, dragged out of the room in their sleepwear by Arto who is babbling about magic and Clint getting home early and Bucky making jokes and Natasha shouting at Clint who has turned into a girl.

They both stumble to a stop in the door of the medbay. Bucky is straddling the chair, grinning like a loon. Natasha is standing next to him, looking like she can’t decide if this is the best or worst day ever. Clint himself – herself – is sitting on the medical trolley, swinging his – her – feet and letting Bruce check his pupils.

“Told you,” Arto crows. “He’s a girl.”

“That he is,” Tony says, sounding intrigued as they step into the medbay. Steve can’t actually find any words this early in the morning. He settles for staring. Clint’s hair is the same, short and blond, but the face is different; no stubble, features softened slightly, longer eyelashes. And Steve can’t see much through the hospital gown he’s wearing, but he can definitely see curves.

“It’s pretty cool,” Clint says and whoa, his voice is still deep but it’s not male deep anymore, it’s different. “Thor says it’s not permanent. Though he’s pretty pissy with me for touching the magicky thingy he possibly told me not to touch. But on the plus side, I’ve got an awesome rack.”

“You betcha,” Bucky grins, and Natasha smacks him around the back of his head.

Arto pulls a face. “Oh, you’re gross.”

“You shouldn’t even know what a rack is,” Tony points out to him, and then swats at Arto who is squinting, head turned to the side as he stares at Clint’s chest contemplatively. “Arto!”

“Hey Steve, I’ve got more cleavage than you now,” Clint says, batting his eyelashes.

“I was just looking!” Arto says indignantly to Tony. “Clint has boobs. It’s weird.”

“You get used to it,” Bucky says nonchalantly, and winks at Clint. Clint blows him a kiss, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, you got real used to it,” Clint replies, and Bucky just smirks.

“Oh please tell me you didn’t,” Steve despairs, as Tony is clapping his hands over Arto’s ears and hissing, “Not in front of the brat!”

“We didn’t,” Bucky says innocently. “Well, not much, anyway.”

“Just that once in the room in Asgard.”

“Oh, and in that other room after the debrief-”

“And on the quinjet on the way home-”

“And in the SHIELD medbay-”

Thankfully, they’re stopped by Natasha smacking Bucky sharply around the back of the head again. “Enough,” she hisses. “You two have put me through enough without adding to it. There is not enough brain bleach in the world for you two.”

“I hate to be the one to say this,” Tony says, giving up on trying to keep Arto’s ears covered and simply holding onto his shoulders instead. “But if you two have been…”

“Gross,” Arto supplies.

“Yeah, if you two have been gross, did anyone think about the consequences of that?”

“Meaning?” Clint asks slowly.

“Are all your lady Barton parts in working order? Because I think one baby super soldier is enough for this tower.”

Bucky breaks into peals of laughter, slumping forwards over his chair. Natasha’s mouth quirks in an unwilling smile, and Clint is laughing too.

“Don’t worry Papa Stark, we were sensible,” he grins at him, before leaning back and patting his stomach. “I did a pregnancy test just to make double sure. Well, Bruce did when he did his fancy-pants bloodwork. No little baby Buckys in here.”

“Wait, what?” Arto demands, looking from Clint to Steve to Tony to Bucky who is still laughing, the asshole. “Steve, what does he mean? How is there a baby Bucky?”

Steve stares at Arto for a moment, and then he reaches out to pat Tony on the shoulder. “Tag, you’re it,” he says, hastily stepping backwards. “I’m going back to bed.”

 


	2. Eight - follow on from chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in chapter one I had written that Clint is turned into a girl by Asgardian Magic. As you do. Then I had a lovely chat with a user about the terminology used, the perceptions that the characters had of this event, and basically whether Clint is really a girl just because he has the parts. I learned a lot, and someone suggested writing a sort of coda to share what I (and Arto and the boys!) have learned. I'm in no way an expert on transgender issues, but did want to share!

“Claudia. Chloe. Claire. Clintina.”

Clint squints at Bucky from where he’s sitting on the floor with his crossed legs tucked under a thick afghan which includes more shades of purple than Steve knew existed. Arto is behind him, crouched back on his heels and carefully massaging heart shapes into Clint’s back. He's concentrating on what he's doing, which is only really happening because the film he'd been adamantly watching for the second time that morning has been paused. He'd looked at Steve with utter betrayal when he'd taken the remote from him, and then turned the look on the ceiling when Jarvis had apologetically told him that he wasn't going to restart the film until he'd completed massage-time.

Steve isn't entirely sure where the new obsession has come from, but he doesn't mind. He can take another few weeks of Cinderella if it means he doesn't have to watch Finding Nemo again in the foreseeable future. He's got a copy of Jurassic Park on standby for when it does get too much; he's pretty sure that'll be a hit. 

"Oh, no!" Bucky says, waving his metal hand at the screen, where a princess is caught in motion, mid-twirl. "Cinderella! Which is better, Cinderella or Clintina?"

Both Clint and Arto scowl at Bucky. “I don’t need a new name.”

“It’s weird calling you Clint when you’re all…” Bucky says, waving a hand at Clint and his slightly altered state. His eyes flick down to Clint’s chest, the same way they always do whenever anyone mentions the fact that Clint is temporarily in possession of breasts. Steve rolls his eyes; Bucky is nothing but predictable when it comes to Clint.

“Clintina,” Arto says, wrinkling his nose. “No, no he’s Clint.”

“He is not he,” Bucky drawls, lying back on the couch and crossing his arms behind his head. “Not for another week or so anyways. Which means you’re probably going to be a lady for Halloween, right?”

Clint pulls a face. “Well, I was going to wear my sexy Captain America outfit,” he says. “Now I can’t, because it won’t be funny, it’ll just be sexy.”

“You’re gross,” Arto points out. “Stop saying that word.”

“Seconded,” Steve says dryly from where he’s standing by the counter, cup of pumpkin spice latte in one hand and absently digging through a bowl of candy with the other. He doesn’t normally get all excessively caught up in the holidays, but he’s got a weak spot for this stuff and everyone knows it. Bucky waves across at him and Steve obliges, tossing a wrapped candy over to him.

“I haven’t even thought about what I’m gonna do,” Clint says. “Pretty hard to top the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtle act of last year, right?”

“Never again,” Bucky says as he unwraps the candy and pops it in his mouth, screwing up the wrapper and flicking it back at Steve. “I was washing off green paint for weeks.”

“Tony has also banned anything which involves painting him green,” Steve says. “So no, no turtles this year.”

“Any more ideas, Art?” Clint asks, turning his head to look at him.

Arto sighs and shakes his head, which is unusual considering his usual enthusiasm for dressing up at every available opportunity. Hell, Steve and Tony have taken Darth Vader, Aquaman and a shark grocery shopping in the past month alone.

"Art?" Clint presses.

Arto just shrugs. “Want you back to normal.”

“He’s never normal,” Bucky says with a grin, and Clint pulls a face at him.

“Next one, Art,” Steve prompts, and Arto nods and kneels up, holding onto to Clint’s shoulders and gently squeezing with his thumbs, just like his therapist showed him.

“Can go a little harder,” Clint says, and then _‘ahs’_ in satisfaction. “There you go, you got it.”

Arto grins and Steve smiles into his coffee; he’d been skeptical when told about using massage as part of behavioral therapy, but Arto is learning how much of his strength a regular person can take, and Clint has reported a noticeable decline in bruises whilst playing so that’s something.

Steve looks up as the elevator doors open; it’s Natasha, wearing her workout leggings and a wonderfully warm looking sweater over the top. “Good morning boys,” she says. “Massage time?”

“Yep,” Arto says, bouncing on his knees slightly. “I’m doing great.”

“I’m sure you are,” Natasha says with a smile, walking over to the fridge and pulling out her bottle of juice, standing next to Steve and leaning back on the counter. “So, still no change?”

The question is aimed at Clint, who shakes his head ruefully. “No,” he says. “Still a girl.”

“We’re renaming her,” Bucky says. “I’m voting for-”

“You are not calling me Clintina,” Clint says, at the same time Arto says, “no we’re not!”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Why would you rename him? He’s not actually a girl, are you? Clint?”

Arto looks at Steve questioningly and Steve nods; Arto pats at Clint’s shoulder and he obligingly sticks an arm out so Arto can carefully massage down it, from shoulder to wrist and back again.

“Well, I got the assets,” Clint says, like it’s obvious.

“Doesn’t make you a girl,” Natasha shrugs.

“What?” Arto asks, pausing at Clint’s shoulder and looking confused. “He is a girl.”

Natasha looks at him evenly, and then to Steve. “Your call,” she says. “Do I jump in here?”

“With what?” Steve asks, not entirely sure what she’s getting at.

“Gender isn’t as simple as boy and girl,” she says. “He doesn’t know that. These two quite clearly haven’t grasped the finer nuances of gender, either. I’ll temporarily let him off seeing as he’s from the forties,” she says, tilting her head towards Bucky, “but I think Arto should know.”

Understanding what she’s getting at, Steve hums thoughtfully. “Is it not gonna confuse him?”

Natasha just gives him a _look_. “If he’s not confused by his life as it is already, I think he can handle this one.”

“What?” Arto asks loudly, massage forgotten as he leans on Clint’s shoulders. “I’m not confused.”

“Ah, ah, massage time,” Natasha says firmly. “Finish up.”

Arto huffs but sits back down on his heels, reaching for Clint’s other arm. Clint makes a sound in the back of his throat and Arto hastily loosens his grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, patting at Clint’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

Steve sends Arto a reproachful look. “See, you were being cross, and that means you’re not thinking about-”

“I _know,_ ” Arto interrupts with a whine. “I said sorry.”

“You did,” Steve says. “And we appreciate you saying sorry, but be careful.”

Pouting, Arto continues massaging down Clint’s other arm, being extra careful around his wrists. Natasha watches him for a moment and then pads over to sit opposite Clint, crossing her legs and rolling her shoulders back.

“Come on, one of you make yourself useful,” she calls.

“Not it,” Bucky promptly replies and Steve concedes and goes to sit behind Natasha, putting his coffee aside.

“Alright, next one Art,” he says softly, and Arto is already there, leaning up to gently rub at Clint’s temples and across his forehead. Steve joins in, and Natasha’s mouth curves into a soft smile as he works.

“You should join in massage time one of these days,” she says to Bucky. “Would be good for your temperament.”

“I will politely decline,” Bucky says, giving her the finger behind Arto’s back. “Anyway, what were you saying about me and my delicate nineteen forties sensibilities? I hate to break it to you, but people in the forties had eyes, and with my eyes I can see that Clint is clearly a girl right now.”

“But he’s not,” Natasha says. “Clint, do you feel like a girl right now?”

Clint hums at that, screwing one eye shut as Arto’s fingers narrowly miss poking him right in said eye. “No, not really. I feel like me, I guess? Just different on the outside.”

Steve catches Arto’s attention and they both move on, this time for a scalp massage that always leaves Clint’s hair sticking up every which way, no matter which gender he is or isn’t.

“You _look_ like a girl,” Arto says doubtfully.

“It’s not all about what a person looks like, Art,” Natasha says. Her eyes are closed, lazily enjoying the sensation of Steve kneading firm circles into the back of her skull. “It’s about what they feel and who they want to be. You can have what people know as girl parts, and still feel like a boy.”

“You can?” Arto asks in surprise.

“Mmmhm,” Natasha says, tilting her head into Steve’s hands. “Some people feel like a boy one day and a girl another day. Some people feel like neither. Some people look like neither, or both. It’s up to the person, and you have to respect what they choose.”

Arto’s brow furrows. “You’re a girl,” he says to Natasha, who nods.

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“Steve’s a boy.”

Steve clears his throat as Arto looks to him for confirmation. “Yep. Outside and inside.”

“Clint is….” Arto begins, and he trails off this time, obviously still a little unsure.

To Steve's surprise, it's Bucky who chips in, looking at Clint thoughtfully. “Right now he's a guy?” Bucky hedges, a question in his voice. “Who temporarily has female parts?”

“Well, the parts don’t make him female, there’s the nuances of language for you,” Natasha says. “But you’re getting there.”

Clint nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, still pretty male up in here,” he says, tapping at his forehead. “Weird. I’d never noticed.”

“Well you don’t felt like your assets are part of you either, do you?”

Clint shakes his head. “Nope. Is it weird to say I feel like I’m in costume?”

Bucky frowns, sitting up. “How come you know all this?” he asks Natasha, and then looks to Clint, somewhat annoyed. “How come you’ve not told me this?”

“Dunno,” Clint shrugs. “Never came up. Come on, you know Nat. She knows my brain before I know my brain.”

Natasha just lifts an eyebrow, a clear _'tell him he's wrong,'_ challenge. Bucky sighs and concedes, though does reach out to brush his metal fingers over Clint's shoulder.

“So he can be a boy,” Arto says slowly. “Even if he has boobs?”

“If he wants, yes,” Natasha says. “If you’re ever watching the news or listening to people talk and you hear the word transgender, that’s what it’s about. People who aren’t just boy or girl. They might look like one in their bodies, but feel different inside.”

“So boys who are actually girls and girls who are actually boys?”

Natasha opens her eyes, smiles at him. “You’re starting to get it. It’s more complicated than that, but you’re doing great.”

Arto looks at Steve, a question in his eyes. As always, checking in with him to ascertain the value of what he’s learning, to see if it’s true or not. Steve nods and Arto nods in return, thoughtful.

“So I’m a boy,” he says like it’s an announcement. “On my body and inside my brain.”

There’s more, Steve’s sure of it. He can tell by the way Arto is looking at him, and restlessly twisting his fingers together. Hell, he wonders if he should call Tony up out of the lab; if Arto is about to say something revelationary, Tony should be here for it too. “But…?”

Arto’s mouth works, uncertain and slightly hesitant. “Can I be Cinderella for Halloween?”

Steve’s heart feels like it’s about to double in size, and he presses his lips together hard, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure you can.”

Arto grins at him, bright and happy. “Clint can be the pumpkin!” he enthuses. “It doesn’t matter if a pumpkin is a boy or a girl!”

“It doesn't matter if any character is a boy or a girl, but yes. I think he'll make an excellent pumpkin,” Natasha says, and leans back against Steve. He loops an arm around her shoulders, gives her a grateful squeeze. “Shall we ask your dads if we can go find your outfit this afternoon?”

“Yes,” Arto says immediately. “Steve? Please?”

“As long as you get Bucky his outfit too,” Steve says seriously. “I think he should be Cinderella’s fairy godmother.”

Clint bursts into laughter, and Arto cackles delightedly. Bucky props himself up on an elbow, looking offended for a moment, and then just shrugs and flops back onto the couch. “Whatever,” he yawns. “I can be a fella and pull off a fairy outfit, right? Just make sure it’s something that shows off my legs.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bucky wears the fairy godmother outfit that they find for him without batting an eyelid, tiara and glitter and all. Clint – back to his normal self – makes an excellent pumpkin, although when he falls down he can’t get up again without help, which the others find hilarious. Steve is Prince Charming - _"because you rescue me, see?_   _"_ – and Tony is also Prince Charming, because Arto says so. Natasha is obligingly the King and spends most of the evening bossing Tony and Steve about. She takes being in character very seriously. Bruce is cast as the Captain, and brushes up very well, but spends most of the evening tugging at his collar, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket and smiling apologetically when Arto tells him _‘no you’re the Captain, you have to tell everyone what to do!’_ With Arto’s permission, he gets the hang of it pretty quickly, and he and Natasha rule the night together. Thor and the Warriors are the mice, and decide that pumpkin carrying is both fitting of the tale of Cinderella, and an excellent sport. Clint does not agree. Jane is the cat, which Thor finds vastly amusing. No-one is cast as either the stepmother or the ugly sisters, because Arto doesn’t like bad people and says he doesn’t need them in his version of the story. It does open up a few loopholes as far as plot is concerned, but they let him have it his way.


	3. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from anon - "I can't let you do that" with Arto and Clint

And Arto throws himself into the car, hands shaking with rage, barely able to see. He’s so angry he could tear something apart, how fucking dare Steve stand there and dictate to him how he’s going to live his life, what he should or shouldn’t do-

The car roars to life. Jarvis is protesting from the console but if Jarvis dares shut that door on him he’ll drive straight through it, and he screams as much at him as the shutters slowly start to descend. He slams his foot onto the accelerator, the car lurches forwards-

And then he slams his foot on the brake as Clint appears out of fucking nowhere, standing nonchalantly in front of the car like he didn’t nearly just get run over.

Arto stares at him. Revs the engine in warning. Clint just pulls a face at him.

“I can’t let you do that,” he calls easily, hands in his pockets. He’s not even got his bow, the fucking idiot, like he thinks he can stop Arto without it.

“Fuck you,” Arto spits back, but his voice cracks and he feels embarrassment and shame flare up inside him, humiliation only making him angrier. He revs the engine again, lets the Audi leap forwards a couple of feet, almost brushing Clint’s shins. Clint doesn’t even flinch, and Arto wants to get out and punch him, to knock him down and have Clint come and hug him and tell him he’s not messed it up-

“You knock me down you face Bucky,” Clint says with a shrug. “Not a risk I’d want to take, Short Round.”

“I hate Bucky.”

“Yes, and you hate Steve and Tony right now too. Probably me as well. But we love you, even if you’re being a stroppy, hormonal, little shit who’s attempting grand theft auto.”

Arto bursts into tears. His hands fly up to cover his face, even more humiliated than before. He hears footsteps and the click and thud of the passenger door, and then he’s turning to bury his face in Clint’s chest, letting strong arms fold around him.

“Wow, puberty is really doing a number on you, isn’t it,” Clint says, and Arto tries to say  _no_  but his voice comes out too high and wobbly and he just wants it to  _stop_ -

“Is Steve mad at me?” he manages to choke out.

“A little. For cursing at Tony. But you know Steve. He loves you even when he’s mad.”

And Arto cries even harder. “Yeah?” he asks. “I don’t really hate Bucky. Or anyone.”

“I know you don’t, Baby Rogers,” Clint says easily, and he presses a kiss to the top of Arto’s head like he’s ten and tiny. “Now you coming to make it right, or does Bucky get to come down and shoot out the tyres? And you know Tony’ll make you pay for it somehow.”

And Arto laughs, wet and thick. He sits up, wiping his sleeve under his nose and hicupping in an uneven breath. His anger is all gone, and now he’s tired and shaky and just wants to curl up in Steve’s arms like he really is Baby Rogers all over again.

“I’ll make it right,” he says, and Clint just smiles, leaning over to turn off the ignition.

“Knew you would.


	4. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not actually a prompt but came from a lovely message from whedonite-whovian-winchester on Tumblr. "Have you seen the news about marshmallow only Lucky Charms? I feel Arto would like this news a LOT."
> 
> (the news being that general mills were running a social media competition to win one of ten boxes of marshmallow only lucky charms.)

“STEVE STEVE STEVE STEVE!”

Steve is barely through the door before he’s being hit by a whirl of blond, paint spattered energy. He automatically holds the tray of drinks up above his head, reaching down with one hand to steady Arto.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“Lucky Charms!” Arto shrieks back at him. It’s a mark of how normal this type of thing has become that the people working in reception and on the ground floor don’t even blink or look up.

“What?” Steve asks, grabbing for Arto’s wrist as Arto pulls at his belt, ineffectual in his attempts to haul Steve across the floor.

“They are making good Lucky Charms, just the good bits!” Arto says, twisting his hand out of Steve’s grip and instead grabbing hold of the pockets of his jeans, yanking hard.

“Arto! I’ve got drinks, _careful_.”

“No,” Arto says. “Steve, come _on.”_

Steve rolls his eyes, crouches down and simply picks Arto up under his free arm. Arto shrieks and kicks, but then stops flailing as Steve heads towards the elevator.

“Stairs,” he says, hands dangling down in front of him, appearing quite content to be carried about like a sack of potatoes. Steve isn’t surprised; Bucky had dropped him off carrying him by an ankle the day before yesterday and Arto had just grinned and waved at him, upside-down and red in the face.

“Thought you wanted to show me something about Lucky Charms,” Steve says. “Elevator is quicker.”

“Fine,” Arto whines, dragging the word out into epic proportions. “But quick, you have to see, Steve you have to see, there’s a thing and I want to win and-”

Steve nods in thanks at the security guard who steps over to press the button. The security guard just grins. “Good morning, Master Rogers.”

Arto doesn’t say anything and Steve gives him a gentle shake. “Hey, that’s you, Master Rogers. Tulio is talking to you.”

“Hi, Tulio,” Arto says automatically and Steve glances apologetically at Tulio, who just waves him off with a laugh. Steve steps into the elevator, and as the doors slide Arto wriggles free. He leans against Steve with arms outstretched, hands plucking at his shirt.

“You can win Lucky Charms,” he says. “Steve, you can win Lucky Charms.”

Steve blinks down at him, nonplussed. “You can buy Lucky Charms.”

“No!” Arto says, pulling a face like Steve’s being an idiot. “Special Lucky Charms. With only the _Charms._ ”

“A box of only the marshmallow bits?” Steve asks.

“Yes and there’s only ten and I _need_ one,” Arto says, with an overdramatic whine and slump into Steve, mashing his face into Steve’s belly.

 _Ah, shit,_ Steve’s internal monologue supplies. Because he loves Arto with all his heart but can easily admit that Arto is pretty used to getting his own way, and this sounds like an impending disaster. He can all too easily imagine the tantrums that will come if Arto doesn’t win his beloved box of Lucky Charms; Tony offering to buy out General Mills to get a box for Arto; the press catching wind and then the headlines about Arto being the most spoiled child on the planet; the board chewing Tony out for making reckless business calls based on his family life; the arguments Steve and Tony will have about letting Arto get what he wants.

Fuck. They’ve only just got over Arto’s epic meltdown when he was told that the ginger tabby which frequents the park wasn’t actually his for the taking.

“Tony says to ask you if I can play,” Arto says, turning his face up to Steve, beseeching.

“Did he now?” Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Steve, please? Please? Dad? Please?”

“Alright,” he says. “We can enter.”

Arto’s shriek of triumph is probably heard throughout the tower, utterly drowning out Steve’s attempts to keep him calm and rational about the whole thing.

 

* * *

 

They give it a shot. Steve tells Arto that he will enter the competition like everyone else and have a chance of winning just like everyone else, and will accept it if he loses, just like everyone else.

Arto frowns at that. Says ‘Superhero,’ like it’s obvious. Steve sighs and repeats himself for the tenth time.

The competition is easy. Take a selfie of Arto holding an imaginary box of cereal, upload it onto Bucky’s Instagram. Tag it appropriately, and then hope.

The picture gets an insane amount of likes and comments, as does every photo of Arto that Bucky puts up.  It doesn’t top the picture of him wearing the Iron Man helmet, the one of him and Natasha painting Clint’s nails, or the one of him and Steve asleep on the couch, but it gets enough attention that Arto is convinced he’s going to win.

 

* * *

 

 He doesn’t win.

When he finds out, he goes perfectly still for around three seconds and then throws himself on the floor and starts to scream.

Tony looks at Steve. “I could buy-”

“No, Tony,” Steve says with a sigh, and goes to step in before the coffee table meets an untimely end.

 

* * *

 

Arto sulks for days. It’s worse than the thing with the cat. Way worse. He even refuses to eat his regular Lucky charms, eyeing the box with hurt betrayal, eyes full of tears. While Tony is talked out of buying General Mills, he does order Arto a bag of cereal marshmallows. It doesn’t have the intended effect; Arto throws them on the floor and howls that they’re _not Lucky Charms ones, they have to be in a box, it’s not the same,_ and then curls up in a pathetic ball on the floor, crying.

“I think he might be a tad spoiled,” Tony says, leaning down to heft Arto up off the floor and sitting down with him, rocking him back and forth and trying to shush him, a gentle hand running over his head.

Steve sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t think we can pin all of this on attachment disorder.”

“I dunno,” Clint chips in, kneeling down to scoop up the offending marshmallows. He pops one into his mouth. “He’s pretty unhealthily attached to Lucky Charms.”

 “Not helpful, Hawkeye,” Tony sighs, pressing his mouth to Arto’s hair. “I’m sorry Art, I didn’t realise they had to be Lucky Charms charms.”

“Spoiled,” Bucky chips in from over the top of his coffee, and Steve scowls.

“And you can shut up as well.”

 

* * *

 

It takes hours for Arto to go down that night. He whines and sulks and sneaks out of his bed and into Tony and Steve’s, and the night ends with Steve sitting on the end of his bed with him until he falls asleep, then easing away and padding down into the communal area to get something to eat and drink.

He comes to an abrupt halt when he spots Clint and Bucky sitting at the counter, which is not unusual in itself even at two AM. He’s more distracted by the fact there are countless boxes of Lucky Charms spread over the polished marble, and the way they’re both systematically going through the opened ones, picking out the marshmallows.

“What happened to him being spoiled?” Steve asks, wandering closer and still deciding if he’s going to be exasperated or amused.

“He was sad,” Bucky says. “And making a racket.”

“He backed down on the cat thing,” Clint says. “Figured we’d give him this one.”

Steve spares a second to wonder if this is really the best idea, and then decides fuck it. “Alright,” he says. “Move up, I’ll help.”

 

* * *

 

“Here,” Bucky says, passing Arto the box of cereal. “Eat your breakfast, Short Round.”

“No,” Arto scowls, tired and grumpy. “No.”

“They’re special,” Bucky sing-songs, rattling the box in front of his face. It doesn’t make the usual cereal noise, and Arto immediately sits up, looking from Bucky to the box and back again.

“Not,” he says doubtfully, and looks to Steve and Tony for help.

“A special box, just for you,” Steve says. “You didn’t win, and Clint and Bucky were sorry you got sad, so they-”

Arto snatches the box from Bucky and tears into it. The unholy shriek he makes when he looks into it makes the hours of rifling through cereal worth it.

“Charms!” he gasps, and pours out the bowl. He looks around wildly, and then before anyone can say anything he lunges at Bucky, scrambling up onto his knee and nearly bashing him in the face with the box that he’s still holding into.

Bucky looks alarmed, holding his hands up out of the way and grimacing as Arto winds an arm around his neck and clings on for dear life, still making muffled noises into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky glances at Steve, still looking lost and like he’s got no idea what to do with Arto. In Bucky’s defense, Arto isn’t usually hands on with him, and is only ever close to him either because he’s with Clint and Bucky kinda comes as part of the package, or when he’s being restrained.

“Oh for - he’s a child, not a bomb,” Tony says. “Give the brat a hug, Barnes.”

“Yeah, Barnes,” Steve says with a grin.

Bucky pointedly gives them the finger, but then sighs and loops an arm around Arto, pulling him up onto his knee more securely.

“So you’re my friend now I’ve given you Lucky Charms?” he asks wryly, brows raised.

Arto leans back and seems to give Bucky a once over. He shrugs, but then twists around so he’s sitting on Bucky’s knee, reaching for his bowl of cereal.

“You got him the charms, you are a friend for life,” Tony says.

“Lucky Charms for life,” Arto says vaguely, popping marshmallows into his mouth. Bucky lets out a bark of laughter and Arto twists around to look at him. He sits back and reaches for Bucky’s metal arm, pulling it around his middle and holding onto his thumb.

“No biting,” he says to Bucky, fingers tapping at the plates.

Steve watches Bucky watch Arto, gently flexing his thumb. “No biting, you gottit. Hey, you gonna let me have a marshmallow?”

Arto smiles, plucks another from the bowl. “No,” he says, and pops it in his mouth.


	5. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arto makes a new friend. Not in any place that Steve or Tony would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Liz, who puts up with small children when she's trying to work. (and for me, because I miss Arto verse and wanted to write more. I'm not even sorry.)

Nick Fury walks slowly into his office, inwardly on high alert. He looks around, knowing that he looks like he’s just checking the time instead of doing a _situation-risks-plan_ sweep. Steve Rogers is in the room next door, visible through the floor to ceiling glass windows. He’s got his back to them, standing shoulder to shoulder with Captain Barnes and in the middle of a video call with someone. That isn’t a problem in itself; the problem is that Steve Rogers seems to have left something in Nick’s office.

Arto Rogers doesn’t say a word as Nick wanders in and shuts the door. He’s lounging back in Nick’s chair, so small his purple-sneakered feet don’t touch the floor. He’s bobbing them up and down, laces dangling down and swaying back and forth.

“So,” Nick says easily, slipping his hands into his pockets as the glass door softly _thwumps_ shut behind him. “You’re in my chair.”

“Steve said I could,” Arto responds immediately. He doesn’t look bothered by Nick’s presence in the slightest which is interesting; Steve and Tony have both said about how twitchy he gets around strangers. They’ve never actually met properly; the only other times Arto has been in SHIELD, Nick hasn’t been there. Really, considering the whole kidnapping thing, he’s amazed that Steve lets Arto anywhere near the place.

He breathes out slowly, walking forwards and resting his hands on the back of the chair that sits on the other side of his desk. “Well, it’s not Steve’s chair.”

Arto frowns at him. “Steve said I could,” he repeats, like Nick is the one not getting it.

“Where’s your other owner?” Nick asks, giving up on the chair issue. “I know he’s in the building.”

Arto continues to frown and Nick inwardly sighs. “Where’s Tony?”

Arto holds up what looks like a one-of-a-kind Starkphone. “Went to annoy the tech department,” he says. “The phone stays here so it doesn’t get upset by your inferior tech.”

The kid grins, looking very pleased with himself. Nick’s brows go up, and he’s never going to admit it to Stark, but he’s unwillingly amused by the parrot act. It’s like Stark’s voice coming from a small Steve Rogers, which admittedly happens with the taller Rogers more than he’s completely comfortable with.

Well, whether or not he’s entertaining, and regardless of the fact the kid seems happy to be in here, Nick has work to do. The horrid tedious kind that involves telling the WSC what the CIA told Mi6 told Interpol told SHIELD, which everyone knows about anyway. He’d much rather be planning intelligence sweeps and giving the green light to Stark’s proposed new jet-scheme, but bureaucracy comes first.

“Well, as nice as this all is, I have work to do,” Nick says. He walks over and raps his knuckles loudly on the glass window. Steve and Bucky turn around as one, and Steve winces as Nick folds his arms and fixes him with a _look_.

 _‘WSC. Five minutes,_ ’ he signals through the window. Fury nods, because if Rogers is talking to the WSC then they won’t be on his ass about the Avengers keeping them out of the loop again. Already onto plan B, Fury points at Barnes. Barnes looks surprised, shaking his head and cupping a metal hand around his ear. _‘Can’t hear you,’_ he mouths, and then turns around, not quite quickly enough to hide the grin.

Well, that’s him on the next mission to the Arctic Circle. Not that there’s anything there. Maybe Nick could find something there for him to go and investigate. An angry polar bear for him to wrestle or something.  

Moving seamlessly onto plan C, he turns back to his office and its curiously watchful occupant. It’s a little surreal really. He’s only ever dealt with Arto Rogers as a name in a file, as an inter-dimensional anomaly that needed to be contained. But now, six months in and the kid is officially a human being from planet Earth with a biological father and a social security number. He’s not even an interdimensional anomaly anymore – _technically_ , he never was. Not now Nick and Phil have dealt with it.

Alright,” he says, and sits down in the chair opposite his own. “So, we’ve never actually properly met. I’m Nicolas J Fury, head of SHIELD.” He holds out his hand across the desk and Arto cocks his head, puzzled. Nick drops his hand slightly. “Those parents of yours never taught you to shake hands?”

Arto shakes his head, looking suspicious. “Clint says high five?” he ventures.

“Okay. Shaking hands is what people that aren’t Clint Barton do,” he says. “When you meet someone, you tell them your name, shake their hand and say nice to meet you. It’s polite.”

Arto perks up. “Tony did it!”

“Yeah, you want to learn? Here, give me your hand. Hi, I’m Nick Fury, nice to meet you.”

He lifts his hand again and this time Arto reaches out. Nick takes his hand in his and gently shakes it. “Okay, now your turn,” he prompts.

“Hi I’m Arto Rogers nice to meet you,” the kid rattles off, and then pulls his hand back. “Are we friends now?”

“Sure,” Fury says. He looks back towards the window, to see Steve still engrossed in his call. Arto makes a strange clicking sound, and when Nick looks back he’s staring through the window too, eyes on Steve. Looks like plan C involves staying here a while longer, because he can read that kid like a book and isn’t exactly going to up and leave him while he’s looking like that.

“Alright. I’m gonna sit this side of my desk and work,” he says, pulling up a holoscreen and swiping through a few menus. “You can sit that side and work.”

Arto perks up at that. “I can help?”

Nick laughs shortly at that. “Sure. You can help.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do you have a thing on your eye?”

“Where is your eye?”

“Why are you wearing a coat inside?”

“Can I take my shoes off?”

“What’s that boat on the river doing?”

“What is the river?”

“Do you tell Clint what to do?”

“Do you tell Bucky what to do?”

“Does Steve tell you what to do?”

“What are those numbers?”

“Why are your walls glass?”

“Are you doing work to fight bad guys?”

“Did a bad guy take your eye?”

“Were you born with one eye?”

“Can I see your eye?”

Nick isn’t regretting his decision to stay with the Rogers kid – at the very least it’s a chance to get to know more about him – but _Christ_ , the kid can talk when he gets going. Words all jumbled and stuttering, a thousand rushed questions that are fascinated and eager, if not a little tricky to follow.  He’s getting nothing done at all – not that he can do much anyway. He’s not pulling up sensitive information in front of the kid, not if Steve’s photographic memory is in any way genetic.

“Are you going to ask me questions all day?” he asks, not looking up.

“Yeah!” Arto says enthusiastically. There’s the noise of him shifting and when he does look up Nick sees that Arto is now kneeling up in the chair, leaning across the table. The Starkphone is still clutched in his hand, and it would be a lie to say that asking to see it hadn’t crossed Nick’s mind, but he’s not going to.

“Does your eye hurt?” Arto asks.

“No,” Nick says. “It’s fine.”

“What if I poked it?”

Nick leans back in his chair. “As your friend, I am telling you that poking people’s missing body parts is not what we call socially acceptable.”

“Is it a metal eye like Bucky’s metal arm?”

“No.”

“Could Tony make you a metal eye like Bucky’s metal arm?”

“No,” Nick says. “Definitely not.”

Arto looks up and shouts something indecipherable; Nick turns around to see the door opening and Tony wandering in, grinning widely at Arto.

“You’re back!” Arto shouts, and before Nick can say anything, he climbs up and over the desk, jumping into Tony’s arms. Tony makes a pained noise and lifts him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Stop jumping from things, we’ve been over this,” he says. “What did you do with Steve? Is he still - oh for god’s sake.” Tony spots Steve through the window, and promptly walks over to the glass partition. “Art, bang on the window. Don’t break it, just be noisy and annoying.”

Arto happily obliges, and Steve and Bucky turn around again. This time, Steve just nods and immediately walks towards the door, leaving Barnes to take over the video call.

“Sorry,” he says and he comes into the office. “The CIA have ballsed up, just making sure all the information is in the right place and not in the wrong country,” he grimaces. “Nick, Mi6 agreed to send the files back.”

“Alright,” Nick says, suitably impressed. “You saved me an hour of dealing with the WSC, consider that payment for babysitting.”

“Nick has one eye,” Arto tells Tony, and Tony chokes on nothing, trying to swallow his snort of laughter

“And Arto doesn’t like shoes,” Nick says easily.

“We’re friends,” Arto tells Tony. He reaches out for Steve and Steve steps forwards automatically, taking him from Tony and hitching him up. Damn. They look so alike it’s frightening.  

“You are?” he asks doubtfully.

“We bonded,” Nick says, utterly straight-faced.

Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Now I’m suspicious,” he says. “What happened to the Fury who didn’t want…?” he trails off, but tips his chin towards Arto, no doubt alluding to the time when Nick had told them to hand Arto over.

“Maybe I misjudged,” he says. “The kid grows on you.”

“I grow on you,” Arto says seriously to Steve. “You said you’d take me for pancakes.”

“Alright,” Steve says. “Get your shoes and we’ll go.”

Tony is already out of the office, waving cheerfully at Barnes who waves him off vaguely, off the call but busy doing something with a holoscreen in the other room. Steve tries to stop Arto from dashing after Tony but the kid is damn quick and evades him pretty easily. Steve sighs and collects the shoes, before pausing on his way out.

“Thanks,” he says to Fury. “For keeping an eye on him.”

He says it without an ounce of shame, and Nick genuinely doesn’t know if he’s being trolled or not. “My pleasure,” he says. “I like the kid. Not so much when he’s talking Stark at me, but he’s a good kid.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind about him,” Steve says, and then he’s gone. Nick waits for his footsteps to fade and the door to swish shut before he allows himself to snort with laughter, getting up and walking around to slump back in his own chair.

Change his damn mind. Please. He always knew that the best place for that kid was to be with Steve Rogers, and well. If there’s one way to make sure Steve Rogers does something, it’s to tell him he’s not allowed to do it.

 


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 of Counterpart- the original version. Found this on my other laptop and didn't just want to delete it. I don't know the exact reasons for not using this version - something to do with needing this bit to be in Tony's point of view? Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> Dedicated to [Copperbadge](http://copperbadge.tumblr.com/), for having my back and talking sense into me. And for punching a pigeon in the face. I hate those things.

Steve’s summation that he might just be getting a handle on things lasts around an hour.

“I am King Hawkeye of the Southern Realm, and I will not be defeated! Not by anyone, and certainly not by small blond children!”

Clint’s voice is easily audible over the noise in the rest of the room, and Steve watches, torn between amusement and despair as Clint walks up and down the length of the couch, feet sinking into the soft cushions. Natasha has long since gone back to her book, sitting in the corner of the couch, and doesn’t even bat an eyelid as Clint steps over her on his journey. Clint is wearing a towel around his shoulders like a cape, and is peering around the room suspiciously. Arto is curled up on the floor at the far end of the couch, knees and arms tucked in underneath him and giggling madly.

“Looks like I’ve chased the beast away,” Clint announces, and steps up onto the arm of the couch, above where Arto is hiding.

“He can and will knock you off there,” Tony calls from his place opposite Steve at the island counter, eyes fixed on the circuit boards in front of him and screwdriver in hand. Next to Tony, Bruce is nursing a mug of tea between his palms and watching Arto and Clint with an amused smile on his face.

“Lies,” Clint calls back dramatically. “No beast shall knock me off the island of couch.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Arto springs to his feet with an unholy shriek, throwing his hands in the air. Clint throws himself backwards with a yell, and lands on his back on the couch. Laughing uncontrollably, Arto scrambles up onto the couch and sits on his chest.

“I win!” he shouts, gripping Clint’s shirt in his fingers. “You’re not the king, not the king anymore!”

“Well, glad to see that life a la Hydra hasn’t done anything to his imagination,” Tony says vaguely from across the counter.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Is he showing a good sense of imagination?”

“Hard to say,” Tony says. “Looks like it, if he’s convinced that Barton is King of Couch Mountain.”

“That’s not imagination. He’s only parroting what Barton says,” Bucky points out unexpectedly, and Steve thinks back over what Arto has done and said in the past hour and realises he’s right.

“Makes sense,” Steve says slowly. “Imagination has to come from experience, right? And we don't know how much experience he actually has.”

“You mean how much he’s been told about, or shown?” Bucky asks, and Tony nods.

“No way of knowing, I guess,” he says, and Steve thinks back to Coulson and his suggestion that they go and see Xavier. He stays silent for the moment; he’s unsure how he feels about the suggestion, and doesn’t want Tony deciding and then trying to push him to agree with what he wants. Going down that route is just inviting a fight, and Steve’s not sure he can handle fighting with Tony again so soon.

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy-” Clint is laughing, and Steve looks over to see him grappling with Arto, Arto’s wrists in his hands. Arto is laughing as well, but as he shifts he catches Clint in the ribs with a knee, knocking a pained grunt out of Clint’s chest.

“Whoa, time out,” Steve calls, and he’s up before he realises he’s made the decision to intervene. “Arto, stop.”

He strides over and reaches for Arto, grabbing him under his arms and lifting him off of Clint. Arto flails for a moment, and then makes a noise of protest as Steve swings him to the floor. A few feet away, Natasha is watching with careful eyes, book still in hand but body coiled ready to pounce if necessary.

“I’m okay,” Clint says, and sits up. “Just caught me wrong.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Arto says, and he reaches out and pressed his hands to the side of Steve’s hip, pushing against him. “Accident.”

“Alright, but that’s enough,” Steve says. “You keep forgetting you’re too strong to play like that with Clint and you’ll end up hurting him.”

Arto’s face crumples, and he pushes at Steve harder. “Not too strong,” he begins, but then stops, chin wobbling. “Strongest.”

“Think someone’s tired,” Tony’s voice calls pointedly, and Steve glances back to see that Tony, Bucky and Bruce are all watching him. An irrational hit of paranoia jabs him in the stomach, and he wrestles down the feeling that he’s being tested.

“Not,” Arto replies tearfully, and reaches up to rub at his eye with a small fist. “I want to play.”

Steve is momentarily at a loss. He can’t let Arto carry on if he’s going to hurt Clint, and he definitely can’t let Arto carry on if he’s getting tearful and irritable. However, he suspects that if he tells Arto that he has to stop playing, everything could go very wrong, very quickly.

“Come and play on your tablet,” Tony calls. “Give Hawk-Brain a chance to catch his breath.”

Arto doesn't even acknowledge that Tony has spoken, though Steve takes heart in the fact it’s not an outward refusal or a negative response. With that in mind, Steve holds out his hand. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll play with you.”

Arto takes his hand without a word. “Bucky Bear,” he says, clinging tightly to Steve’s hand. Steve looks around; he’s not seen the bear in over an hour, not since Arto and Clint tipped most of the small cushions from the couch.

“I have him,” Natasha says, and Arto turns towards her, but steps back into Steve’s side. She holds out the bear, speaking again in a calm voice. “Don’t worry, Solnishka. I just didn’t want King Hawkeye to take him.”

Arto manages a watery, wobbly smile. He takes a hesitant step forward though doesn't let go of Steve’s hand, so Steve steps with him so he can edge forwards enough to take the bear from Natasha.

“Solnishka?” Steve says in an undertone as Arto turns around with Bucky Bear clutched in his arms, burying his face in Steve’s hip.

“He’s growing on me,” Natasha replies, lifting an eyebrow slightly. “Not just me, I think.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and Natasha simply goes back to her book. He looks down at Arto, gently running his hand over his head. “Come on, lets go.”

Arto shakes his head, so Steve hedges his bets and simply bends down to pick him up. Arto goes without a protest, leaning tiredly against Steve’s shoulder for a moment before pushing back, blinking and looking around.

Steve carries him over to the others, sliding back onto his seat and setting Arto on his knee. Tony slides over Arto’s tablet, some sort of interactive snakes and ladders game already open. Arto leans forwards without a protest or hesitation, tapping his finger on the interactive dice and watching raptly as it rolls across the screen.

“You know we bought him a real version of that,” Bucky comments. “With a board and pieces and everything.”

“The joys of electronic versions, ready to distract at every moment,” Tony says, picking up the circuit board and holding it up to the light, examining it critically. “Now that should do it.”

“Dare I ask what it’s supposed to do?” Clint asks as he wanders over towards the refrigerator, his towel-cape swishing around his shoulders. “And didn’t you say you were buying team dinner?”

“I did,” Tony says. “No, I am not ordering you one of everything.”

“Would you order me one of everything?” Steve asks, looking down as Arto twists around and nudges him, pointing towards the tablet. He obediently taps the dice and watches as his counter - a small green frog, by the looks of things - slides four spaces past Arto’s pink pig counter and straight up a ladder.

“No!” Arto protests, and jabs at the dice with a look of utter concentration on his face. Steve half-heartedly spares a thought to hope Arto wins, because he doesn't want to have to deal with the tantrum he suspects will come if Arto loses this game after losing at MarioKart earlier.

“Probably,” Tony says as Steve leans forwards to take his turn again.

“Favouritism,” Clint says.

Tony looks up at Steve, smirk on his face. “Most definitely.”

Meeting Tony’s eyes, Steve smiles faintly back before Arto grabs at his hand, pulling at his fingers. He looks down to take his turn and Arto makes a triumphant noise as Steve’s counter slides down a snake and ends up languishing behind, right near the start.

“Looks like you’re winning,” he says to Arto, who just laughs and slaps his hand against the tablet, leaning forwards with his elbows on the edge of the counter. He seems to have brightened up, the incident with Clint all but forgotten, but Steve doesn't think it will take a lot for him to end up wobbling again.

Clint slouches back towards the couches, slumping down next to Natasha. She closes her book and Steve hears the faint murmurs of their conversation over the sound of the television, which is still on and playing cartoons. Tony has turned his attention to Bruce and is talking about some sort of equation that Reed Richards has apparently sent him to look over; Tony is looking put out and Bruce is looking cautious, so Steve can only assume that Reed has figured out something pretty important. Bucky is just sitting back and watching Arto, pulling absent mindedly at his lower lip.

Steve plays his turns on the game dutifully, though he’ll admit that his attention isn't there. His eyes slide to the family tree that has been stuck on the front of the refrigerator, held in place by two magnets in the shape of Mjolnir and the Hulk. He stares at the picture of himself, of the green line connecting him to Arto, thinking about Arto whispering ‘green’ to him earlier.

This is his life now. Arto is his life now. Not SHIELD, not Captain America.

Arto shifts in his arms, making a clicking sound with his tongue and pushing at Steve’s arm with a small hitching breath of sound in the back of his throat, and Steve realises that he’s pulled Arto almost impossibly close, his arm tightening around his middle.

Startled, he lets him go. “Sorry,” he says, having a moment of wild panic that he’s hurt him by holding too hard, but Arto just tips his head back and beams at him, reaching up to touch Steve’s face.

“Green,” he says, and Steve nods and mouths ‘green’ back at him.

Arto grins and then abruptly turns and slides off of Steve’s knee. “Toilet,” he says to Steve, and then passes Bucky bear to him before darting away.

“Green,” Tony murmurs from across the table, and Steve jerks his head up, feeling himself flushing, an uncomfortable hot rise in his chest. Luckily they’re alone at the table; somehow, both Bruce and Bucky have relocated to the couches whilst Steve has been busy playing snakes and ladders with Arto, and damn it, he’s not on form if he didnt even notice that happening right under his nose.

“Shut up,” Steve says evenly, looking down at the tablet.

“Not a chance,” Tony says, and Steve hears him getting up and walking close. He slides onto the seat next to Steve, resting a hand on his knee. “You’re wearing the whole fatherhood thing well.”

“God, don’t,” Steve groans..

“I mean it,” Tony says earnestly. “You  could start a revolution. You could single-handedly make ‘soccer-dad’ a hot look-”

“I am going to knock you out,” Steve says flatly. “In five, four-”

“Okay, okay,” Tony laughs, sitting back and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I just-” he begins, drops a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Seeing that thing,” he says, nodding to the family tree picture, “And seeing you with him-”

“Makes it almost feel like we can actually do this?” Steve says, and Tony nods.

“Yeah, that,” he says. His eyes flick from Steve’s eyes to his mouth, and he shifts to the edge of his chair and leans in-

“Sir, Ms Potts is entering the tower,” Jarvis interrupts, and Tony groans, bypassing Steve’s mouth and slumping forwards to bury his face in his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he says, voice muffled. He pushes against Steve, sitting up. “I better go head her off.”

“Good luck,” Steve says, and Tony leans in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaving the room. Steve watches him go, feeling uneasy and a little lost. He should probably go with Tony, to at least be there to back him up and help explain to Pepper.

He gets up and pushes away from the counter, walking over and sitting on the couches with the others. Bruce is sitting back with a book on his knee, idly watching the television. Natasha is curled up still with her eyes back on her own book; Bucky is sitting on the other couch and holding his phone out to Clint who has moved to sit on the floor near Bucky’s feet. Whatever it is on the phone is making Clint’s eyebrows climb higher and higher up his face; that coupled with the wicked grin on Bucky’s face makes Steve very sure he doesn't want to know what’s on it.

No-one says anything to him as he slumps onto the couch near Natasha, pulling his feet up underneath himself and looking absently towards the television. Nor does anyone comment when Arto reappears and makes a beeline for Steve, scrambling up to sit tucked into his side, watching the television and playing idly with the drawstring of Steve’s sweatpants. Bruce looks up but goes back to his book, and Clint picks up a cushion and tosses it over at Arto, who just grins and hides his face into Steve’s side.

After an hour, Tony still hasn’t reappeared. Steve quite pointedly doesn't ask Jarvis for any updates, because Pepper and Stark Industries is Tony’s business, and even though earlier he’d wanted to go and defend Tony, he knows that Tony can handle himself, and should probably be left to do so. He’s never once wanted Steve involved with his work outside of the Avengers, and Steve has never been interested in it. He only knows that Tony plays a big part in R&D, still owns enough shares to technically own the company, and drives Pepper up the wall on a regular basis even though his actual contact with the company is limited now he’s a full time Avenger.

An hour is a hell of a long time to be arguing with Tony, though. He would know.

After an hour and a half, both Arto and Clint are whining they are hungry. Clint is quickly hushed by Bucky smacking him upside the head, but dealing with Arto in the same way is definitely not an option. Steve manages to placate him by getting Jarvis to put a documentary about sharks on the television, and Natasha procures a packet of Belgian cookies from somewhere that definitely isn't’ the communal kitchen, and shares them willingly with Arto and deliberately not with Clint.

Tony reappears just before the two hour mark. Steve hears the elevator doors slide open and Tony steps out, arm in arm with Pepper.

“Pepper!”

“Hey, Potts!”

Natasha is first on her feet, walking over to say hello. Pepper smiles warmly at her, and Tony slips his arm free as they catch up. He heads straight over to Steve, dropping onto the couch next to him and Arto, looking furtively over his shoulder to check that Pepper is still occupied.

“Hey, Smart Art,” Tony says wearily as he turns back, brushing his knuckles against Arto’s cheek. “Hey, can I borrow your ears for a moment?”

Arto nods and Tony slides his palms over Arto’s ears before turning to Steve. “I’ve ordered dinner, Pepper is staying a few days, she’s agreed to not tell the board anything, she still thinks I’m only doing this for you, I may have told her to go fuck herself, she is majorly concerned that I am not cut out for raising a child.”

Steve blinks at him at the same time Arto squirms out of Tony’s hold, pushing his hands away.

“Still hear you,” he says matter-of-factly. “You said fuck.”

Tony stares at him and then at Steve. “I think I’m proving her point.”

“Right. First of all, don’t you say that,” Steve says to Arto, who scowls and twists into Steve;s side, wedging his face between Steve’s ribs and the couch. “Second, you need to slow down and tell me what actually happened.”

“A lot of talking,” Tony says listlessly, and then seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “She’ll come around.”

“You sure of that?” Steve asks cautiously.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “She doesn't have another option.”

“Steve, I’m hungry,” Arto whines, pulling at the drawstring on Steve’s sweats with way too much force; Steve opens his mouth to protest but there’s a tight tugging sensation around his waist and then the string is pulled lose, clutched in Arto’s fist.

“Ooops,” he says tentatively, and he slides uncertain eyes up to Steve, holding the string out. “Sorry.”

“I guess I’ll let you off,” Steve says, taking the proffered string. “If my pants fall down, I’m blaming you.”

Arto giggles, and Tony snorts with laughter too. “I’ll thank you for it,” he says, and Steve elbows him as Arto cackles with laughter.

“Don’t you start,” he says, and Tony leans in to kiss him. His eyes slide shut and he holds his breath in his chest, exhaling slowly through his nose as Tony brushes his fingertips against his jaw.

“Gross,” a voice protests, and Steve feels small hands shoving at his collarbone. “Steve, I’m hungry.”

“You're a pain,” Tony says informatively, pulling back from Steve and fixing Arto with a look. It doesn't seem to do a lot; Arto just pouts and leans up to wind his arms around Steve’s neck.

“Lucky Charms.”

Tony looks at Steve and Steve looks at Tony, and they both say 'no' at the same time. Arto gapes at them both, rearing back in affront. For a moment Steve internally cringes, thinking that Arto will start to object in a more forceful manner, but then he just huffs and buries his face in Steve's chest.

"Would you look at that," Tony says with a quirked grin. "Saying no works."

Steve sends him a reproachful look. "Once. It's worked once." 

"Better than none," Tony says, and leans in for a kiss.


	7. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this while stuck in an airport in Ireland like forever ago. Originally posted on Tumblr. And, I've just realised, it is in past tense, which none of the rest of Counterpart Verse is in. What the hell, tenses.

Steve eyed the reporter with disdain, letting it show on his face and in the way he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re suing us?”

The reporter - if that was even acceptable phrasing for a scumbag paparazzi photographer that had literally hidden in a bush to try and get pictures - nodded, still holding a bloodied wad of tissue to his nose.  “Yes,” he said defiantly. “And I’ve called the police. Your kid assaulted me.”

Steve didn’t reply right away. Technically, Arto  _had_ punched the guy in the face which was wrong of him, but Steve thought the circumstances meant he should be allowed a little leeway. Privately, he was ridiculously, fiercely proud of his son but he wasn’t going to say that out loud right now.

“Okay,” he said simply. “That’s your right.”

The reporter sank back into his chair. For a moment he looked relieved but then his gaze narrowed, suspicious. “I’m not afraid of your lawyers.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” Steve replied, turning to open the door and raising his voice. “Arto, get in here!”

Arto stomped in, skirt flaring dramatically as he did, almost as if the garment was channelling all of Arto’s indignant rage in flapping drapes of blue cotton. He stood next to Steve, folding his arms in a mirror pose of Steve and glaring for all he was worth.

“Hey, I want a police officer present,” the reporter said, voice climbing higher and higher.

“Calm down,” Steve said, using his soothing  _‘Cap is here it’ll all be alright’_ tone of voice. “I just want to make it clear - Arto, did you punch this man?”

Arto’s scowl darkened. “Yep. Right in the face.”

“See!” the reporter said, gesturing wildly at Arto. “He admits it!”

Steve ignored him, though did lay a hand on Arto’s shoulder, mostly to stop Arto launching himself at the man for round two. “Arto, why did you punch him?”

“Because he jumped over the hedge and tried to get photos of us, and when we tried to get past him, the lensy bit on his camera hit Anna on her head!”

The man’s jaw dropped. “I did not!”

“You did!” Arto yelled at him. “He hit her on the fucking head and he left a mark! Nat got it all on film, even when I punched him but I don’t care, I’ll go to jail for it but so will he because he hit a baby!”

The man had gone a very funny shade of red, Steve was pleased to note. “Okay, thanks Art,” he said and turned back to the man. “I might just call Anna’s dad and tell him that you accidentally clipped her with your camera because you were invading her personal space.”

Arto gave him a funny look. “Clint was there.”

Steve shrugged, making a show of getting his phone out. “Bucky wasn’t. I think he should know.”

The reporters face went from puce to a sickly grey so quickly it looked like he’d lost several pints of blood. “Maybe we can deal with this like adults?” he said quickly. “Maybe I don’t need to press charges?”

Steve’s thumb hovered above the call button. “Maybe?”

The man stood up, nearly tripping in his haste. “No, I mean we don’t need the police do we, kid, I forgive you, I should be going-”

The man grabbed his camera and his bag and literally ran from the room. Satisfied, Steve put his phone away.

Arto nudged him. “That was super cool.”

“And super unethical,” Steve sighed, putting both hands on Arto’s shoulders and steering him towards the door. “Don’t tell your dad I did that.”

“I’m telling him everything,” Arto said gleefully. “He’ll be secretly proud of you. Like,” he added, eyes sliding over to Steve, “you’re secretly proud of me.”

Steve turned Arto so they were face to face. “In no way do I condone you punching civilians in the face,” he said, nodding obviously and vigorously the entire time. “And in no way am I proud of you for punching that man in the face.”

Arto’s grin was wide and bright, and he threw his arms around Steve’s chest, hugging him tightly. “Love you, dad,” he said, voice muffled by Steve’s chest.

Steve grinned and hugged him back. “Love you too, kidlet.”


End file.
